Nightmares Are For Sleeping
by Hazel Sage
Summary: One-shot. Cecily doesn't like what's happening, not at all. And it's all that Gemma Doyle's fault! The feelings of those at Spence during the last battle in TSFT


Cecily's POV

I sat happily in the great room, gossiping with Elizabeth and Martha.

"And that Gemma Doyle," I said snidely. "Pray tell me how that girl will ever become a proper lady? She's gone mad already! I'm surprised she hasn't been committed!"

"Indeed," Martha added. "Did you see the way she acted when they pulled that dead Gypsy out of lake? She laughed!"

"Dreadfully horrible," Elizabeth agreed.

I snuck a glance at Gemma across the room. She was staring out the window, looking worried – an expression that was always on her face nowadays. Her tea sat untouched in front of her, and I would have felt a shred of sympathy if I hadn't remembered how much she likes to try and ruin my life.

"Have you ever _seen_ pixies, Brigid?" I heard a little girl ask. She was staring at Brigid, who was in the large chair by the fire, telling the younger girls stories.

"Aye," Brigid said gravely.

"I've seen pixies," a girl said, wide-eyed.

I suppressed the urge to laugh in an unladylike manner. The poor delusional child… She must have been talking to Gemma somehow.

Brigid laughed like an indulgent aunt. "Have you now, luv? Were they stealing yer shoes or leaving the biscuits flat?"

"No. I saw them last night on the back lawn."

Brigid frowned. "Talking nonsense, you are."

"It isn't nonsense!" The child insisted. "I saw them last night from my window. They bade me come play."

"What did they look like?" Gemma asked, her face looking troubled and pale.

Brigid tickled the girl. "Oh, go on! You're telling stories to your old Brigid!"

I glanced around to see if the teachers would reprimand Gemma for indulging in the child's supernatural fantasies. However, Mrs. Nightwing was looking at Brigid with fear and Miss McCleethy was listening with interest, something that was rare for her.

"I promise," the girl said in earnest. "On my life, I saw them – riders in black cloaks. Their poor horses were so cold and pale. They bade me come down and ride with them, but I was too frightened."

I noticed that good-for-nothing scholarship student grabbed Gemma's hand, looking incredibly scared.

Alarm showed itself in Mrs. Nightwing's voice. "You say this was last night, Sally?"

"Lillian," Miss McCleethy warned. Mrs. Nightwing paid her no heed.

I didn't know what was going on and it made me angry. Was it a secret I didn't know about? Impossible. I knew _every_ secret around this place.

The little girl nodded vehemently. "They had one of the mummers with them. The tall, funny one. They said they would come back tonight."

The wind howled ominously and I shivered.

"Sahirah?" Mrs. Nightwing looked much paler than I'd ever seen her before.

"Listen to me, Sally. You had a dream. That's all. A very bad dream." Miss McCleethy said.

The little girl shook her head. "It was real! I saw them."

"No, you didn't," Brigid said. "Dreams is funny that way."

"I suppose it could be a dream," the girl said uncertainly.

"Tonight, you'll have a nice glass of warm milk and there'll be no dreams to trouble you," Miss McCleethy assured her. "Now, Brigid's got to see to her duties in the kitchen."

The younger girls protested, but Brigid bustled out of the great room.

I noticed Ann and Gemma in deep conversation, looking worried and fearful. Mrs. Nightwing pulled Gemma aside and I felt a slight bit of envy. Why was that troublemaker getting the attention of the headmistress if she obviously wasn't getting in trouble?

Mrs. Nightwing dabbed at her neck with a handkerchief. Soon, Mrs. Nightwing, Miss McCleethy, and Gemma silently slipped out of the room and I stared towards the door in suspicion.

A few minutes later, the doors swung open and Gemma, Miss McCleethy, and Mrs. Nightwing all came in, along with a man with a scarred face that I'd seen before. They were followed by a Gypsy woman that we knew as Mother Elena. There was a surprisingly handsome Indian Gypsy behind the others as well, following close behind Gemma. All of the girls gasped, including me. How scandalous was this!

"What is happening?" Felicity asked.

Ann peered into the bowls that they all had in their hands. "What is that?"

"Protection," Gemma said quickly, shoving it rudely at her. "Follow Mother Elena's lead."

The small group spread along the sides of the room, checking the latches on the window and painting each window with the mixture in their bowls. Brigid tucked tiny sprigs of rowan leaves onto the sills with one hand and held fast to her cross with the other.

We all watched in morbid fascination. What on earth was going on? Aren't those marks similar to the ones left on the East Wing?

"Brigid, what are you doing?" A girl with a large pink ribbon asked.

"Never you mind, dearie," she answered.

"But, Brigid -"

"It's a game," Gemma said brightly, exchanging nervous glances with Brigid.

The girls clapped in excitement. "What sort of game?"

"Tonight, we'll pretend the pixies are coming. And to keep them out, we must mark all of the doors and windows," Gemma answered.

Brigid's eyes were as wide as saucers. The other girls squealed, wanting to play the game too.

"What is this?" Elizabeth stared into the pot and wrinkled her nose. "It looks like blood."

I turned my nose up in disgust.

"Really, Mrs. Nightwing. It's unchristian," I sniffed, trying to fight the urge to be sick. Was it truly blood?

The younger girls screamed, "Let me see! Let me see!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mrs. Nightwing scolded. "This is nothing more than sherry and molasses."

"Doesn't smell like molasses or sherry," Elizabeth grumbled.

Brigid poured the mixture into cups. "'Ere, we'll all help." Everyone took cups doubtfully, sniffing it and wrinkling their nose, their lips curled. But they all painted marks on windows and began to compete, trying to see who could complete the most. They all laughed and jostled for position, but I saw Brigid begin to sweat.

I once again felt like I was missing something and felt angry.

Every door was marked and sealed, so we all simply waited in the great room. It was hopelessly boring and hot in the room; I could feel my skin moistening and sighed in disgust. No one paid me any mind. Darkness fell and I shivered, feeling an ominous sense of foreboding.

The younger girls began to get tired and bored of waiting for the pixies to show up. Brigid refused to let them go to bed before midnight however, so they accepted it.

I gossiped with Martha and Elizabeth, talking about the Gypsies in our midst. I stared constantly at Gemma Doyle, noticing that she seemed quite taken with the Indian Gypsy, and he seemed quite infatuated with her. And they seemed so comfortable with each other. It was absolutely scandalous. Both Martha and Elizabeth agreed with me and we decided to spread the gossip tomorrow, when everyone was more awake.

I found Gemma Doyle a strange person at the moment. Her friends were playing whist in Felicity's tent, but she didn't join them. She just held that _Gypsy_ woman's hand and stared at the clock.

Eventually, at around eleven o'clock, most of the girls had fallen asleep, as had Martha and Elizabeth. I was dreadfully bored and occupied myself by glowering at Gemma Doyle. She was in on this secret that I did not know. Just another reason to dislike her.

The Indian boy and a man with a scarred face were keeping watch by the closed doors, glaring at one another sometimes. I wondered what they were on guard for. Mother Elena had fallen into a fitful sleep. Mrs. Nightwing had put down her book and was looking around the room. Brigid clutched her rosary beads, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

The clock was the only noise in the room besides the quiet breathing of the sleeping girls.

_Click. Click. Click._ I heard the clock clearly. _Click. Click. Cli…_

I barely stopped my gasp at the utter silence in the room. I heard the scrape of metal and saw that the Indian had drawn a dagger.

"What is it?" Brigid whispered. Miss McCleethy immediately hushed her.

I heard the faint sounds of horses outside on the lawn as well as the sharp caw of a crow. Mrs. Nightwing's face drained of color. Mother Elena woke up and looked at Gemma.

"They have come," She said.

I stared in fear at my teachers, the Gypsies, and that dreadful Gemma Doyle. What in the name of our Queen was going on?

The room was still and I heard Brigid whisper, "They can't get in. We've marked every door, every window with a seal of protection."

"Their power is strong. They will not stop until they have what they want." Mother Elena said, staring straight at Gemma as she said this.

Were they implying that the pixies were coming tonight to come get Gemma Doyle? Surely they were in jest?

"Let's not jump to any conclusions," Miss McCleethy said. "A horse. A crow. It could be nothing."

"You promised there would be no danger." Mrs. Nightwing said.

"I am not convinced that there was danger at all save for what has happened to Miss Doyle's mind."

I heard horses and birds outside still.

"What is it?" Elizabeth said sleepily, waking up. "What's the matter?"

"Mrs. Nightwing, can't we please go to bed now?" One girl asked.

"Shhh!" Mrs. Nightwing said. "Our game will end only after midnight."

"Mr. Fowlson, would you check?" Miss McCleethy asked.

The scar-faced man nodded and peeked behind the drapes. He turned around and shook his head. "Nuffin'."

Brigid sighed in relief.

"We shall not move from this room until after midnight," Mrs. Nightwing whispered. "Just to be certain. After that…" She stopped, frowning.

Safe from what? I wondered.

"What is it?" Felicity asked.

Mrs. Nightwing stared at the column in the center of the room. "It… it moved."

I glanced fearfully at the column, noticing Gemma Doyle backing away from it quickly.

The hiss of the lamps grew louder and they began to pop. Everyone's breathing became ragged. I could hear the tree branches scratching against the window panes. It was terrifying.

Suddenly, the creatures on the column stretched, pushing out of their stone forms.

Brigid's eyes opened wide in horror. "Sweet Jesus…"

A nymph was freed first. She was small as she hit the ground, but she soon rose to full size.

"Hello, darlings," she hissed. "Time for the sacrifice."

I stood in fearful fascination, watching as more creatures began to fall out of the column. They chanted in a spine-chilling chorus: "_It is time for the sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice_…"

The room brightened and I shut my eyes in fear as the lamps exploded. I screamed with girls who woke up. The creatures were no longer imprisoned; they were fully alive.

"_Our sacrifice…_" They hissed, laughing.

"Mrs. Nightwing!" Two small girls screamed as a satyr reached for them, narrowly missing.

"Run! Run to me!" Mrs. Nightwing shouted over the din and the girls made haste for her.

"Bloody 'ell!" Fowlson said in awe at a winged beast.

I shuffled towards Mrs. Nightwing with the other girls and listened as Miss McCleethy barked, "Hugo! The children!"

Fowlson grabbed two girls near him and shoved them towards the great room's massive doors. The Indian boy clutched Gemma's hand and pulled her out of the way of a nymph. Gemma was still standing by the column for some reason.

Gemma grabbed a fireplace poker and fought with it as a sword to fend the nymph off as I watched in shock and slight disgust. Brigid prayed her rosary loudly and pushed younger girls out into the hall, where I was.

"Gemma! Come on!" Felicity and Ann called out from the hall. Gemma and the Indian boy still had to cross the entire room. The boy held a knife while Gemma still held her fireplace poker.

"Gemma, your right!" The Indian shouted.

I wondered where he got the gall to call her by her Christian name. He wasn't courting her or married to her, and still more, he was of _that_ inferior race.

Gemma stupidly turned to her left and a winged beast clutched her hair.

"Ahhh," she screeched, jabbing at it with her poker.

It pulled back and the Indian grabbed her, dragging her to the hall. They both shut it, throwing their weight against it. Ann put an umbrella through the handles and Gemma did the same with her poker.

"I… said… your right," the Indian panted.

"Mary, Mother of God," Brigid mumbled. The little ones clung to her skirts, crying and whimpering, saying that they don't want to play this game anymore.

"There, there," Brigid said, trying to comfort them.

I cowered with Elizabeth and Martha, our screams loud and piercing.

"Gemma! Use your magic! Gift us to fight them!" Felicity pleaded.

"No!" Mother Elena yelled. "She mustn't. It cannot be trusted now. There is no balance to the dark. No balance." She pricked her finger and used her blood to mark the door. "It will not hold long but it will give us time."

I stared at them, still screaming. Did they just say that Gemma Doyle had magic and that she could fight these creatures? _This must be a dream…_ I thought to myself.

"What do we do now?" Ann asked.

The Indian boy answered. "We stay together and we stay alive."

There were only two lanterns in the hall – one held by Mrs. Nightwing and one held by Miss McCleethy.

"The chapel. We should be safe there," Mrs. Nightwing said, looking uncertainly towards the doors. She sounds more frightened than I'd ever heard her before.

"We shouldn't go out there," the Indian boy said. "That's what they want. They could be waiting."

The girls trembled and whimpered, huddled together for protection. "What is happening?" I asked, through tears.

Mrs. Nightwing responded, "It is part of our pixies game."

"I don't wish to play anymore," Elizabeth cried.

"There, there. You must be a brave girl. It's only a game and whoever proves bravest shall have a prize," Mrs. Nightwing lied obviously. But this was better than reality, so we accepted it.

In the great room, the creatures attacked the door and I could see sharp teeth showing themselves in the wood.

"We can't stay here with those things," Gemma said loudly to Mrs. Nightwing and the Indian boy.

"Follow me to the chapel, girls!" Miss McCleethy said, taking the lead.

"Wait!" The Indian boy exclaimed, but we paid him no heed, running towards our teacher, joining hands with her, Brigid, and Fowlson. In a snaking line, we all followed Miss McCleethy.

I found myself towards the end with Gemma and her friends. They looked around the woods with obvious fear, but they also knew what was going on, and for that I was slightly envious.

"I'm cold," a girl said and Brigid hushed her.

The Indian held up a hand. Everyone held their breath to listen.

"What is it?" Fowlson whispered.

The Indian nodded towards the copse of trees. A man in a billowing cape, riding a horse, stepped out from behind the trees. The horse's bones seemed to be glowing through its skin and the rider pretty much had no face. He only had a mouth and jagged teeth.

He turned towards Gemma and pointed a skeletal hand at her.

"_The sacrifice…_" He hissed.

The horse reared, its hooves near Gemma's head. She screamed bloody murder.

"To the chapel! Go! Go!" Mrs. Nightwing shouted. She threw the lantern at the creature and there was darkness as the candle was snuffed out.

I sprinted to the chapel, not caring about the corset that was impaling me. I was running for my life. As I was nearing the chapel, I had to stop, unable to catch my breath. I looked back at where I had just run from. I could see Felicity and Gemma pulling Mrs. Nightwing along with Ann behind them. Suddenly, riders rode from the trees and started to attack them.

There was a screech from above and I looked up to see gargoyles descending from the night sky.

"This is our battle. Run!" One said loudly, pointing towards where I was. I continued my sprint to the chapel, unable to believe what I had just witnessed. Gemma, Ann, Felicity, and Mrs. Nightwing opened the doors and allowed all of us in. Mrs. Nightwing sat in the back pew, gasping for breath.

"Close – close the doors." Gemma stuttered.

The chapel darkened and the bolt slid into position.

Miss McCleethy rushed to Mrs. Nightwing's side. "Lillian, are you all right?"

"The girls," Mrs. Nightwing said, struggling to her feet. "Is everyone safe?"

I approached her. "Mrs. Nightwing, what is happening?" I could hear my voice trembling.

"Let's not fall to pieces," Mrs. Nightwing managed to say, though her voice was weak. "Come on. See to the younger girls." I did what I was told, but I couldn't shake the growing panic that nothing is as it seems, that I should be this afraid, that I will never feel safe again. I still listened to Mrs. Nightwing's voice, trying to understand as I cared for the younger girls.

I heard shrieks from outside and I cringed. Death is horrible. The creatures are even more so.

Miss McCleethy sat next to Mrs. Nightwing in the pew, her head in her hands. "How could this have happened?"

"I told you before – Eugenia has become part of the Tree of All Souls. Part of the Winterlands," Gemma said.

I wanted to cry. What were they talking about? Eugenia Spence was dead! What was this Tree of All Souls? What were the Winterlands?"

Miss McCleethy shook her head.

"I thought I was going mad," Gemma said.

_You_ are_ mad! _I thought viciously in my head._ You are absolutely mad and crazy and I hate you!_

"They will fight. They will come more and more," Mother Elena mumbled. "There is not protection now."

"My girls," Mrs. Nightwing murmured. "I must protect my girls."

"There must be some hope," Ann said.

Felicity looked at Gemma, as if begging her to make everything better.

I could hear more death cries from outside and shuddered. Along with the other girls, I clung to my friends, cried, and rocked back and forth, absolutely petrified.

"We have to cut it down. We have to go to the Winterlands," Gemma said.

The Indian boy stepped away from the door. "You can't go into the realms with every creature hunting for you."

I didn't understand. I wanted to wail as loud as I could. What were the realms? Were those creatures truly after Gemma? Well they could have her! If they left us alone, I didn't care! Let them get rid of that horrible girl! This was her fault anyways!

"She's no safer here," Mrs. Nightwing said. "It must be stopped."

"I'll do it," Gemma said. "But I'm going to need help. The door is across the lawn, through the woods. And somehow, we've got to make it there."

What door, Gemma Doyle? Are you crazy? Mad? Insane?

Felicity whirled around. "You really _are_ mad! We can't possibly get through that way!"

"We cannot simply wait!"

"Perhaps the gargoyles will protect us," Ann said.

The gargoyles, Ann Bradshaw? Why must the gargoyles have to protect us? Because your _friend_ is the target of these creatures! Because she has brought the danger upon us!

The Indian stood next to Gemma, much too close to be proper. I barely hid my disgust as he said, "I will go with you."

And instead of looking disgusted, Gemma looked relieved. I was utterly disgusted with this girl now.

Miss McCleethy was suddenly on her feet. "The Order banished the Rakshana from the realms. You cannot take them in!"

The Order? Wasn't that the story that our old teacher Miss Moore told us about? The powerful women sorceresses? Was that what Gemma Doyle was? A witch? An evil little witch that deserves to die! But what are the Rakshana? Why is this Indian one of them?

"I already have," Gemma nods at the Indian. Is she saying that she broke a rule with _him_? She was always scandalous, I knew it.

Miss McCleethy shook her head in disbelief. "Extraordinary. Is there anything you've managed not to make a mess of, Miss Doyle? That is strictly forbidden by our rules-"

"Don't you understand? There are no rules anymore! I shall do as I bloody well see fit!" Gemma hissed. The words echoed in the chapel and we all gasped.

How could that horrible girl use such terrible language? I hate her. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her…

"I should point out that I am no longer a member of the Rakshana," the Indian added. "And Miss Doyle can, in fact, do as she bloody well sees fit."

I fight my gasp. How dare than Indian speak so disrespectfully to an Englishwoman!

Felicity took Gemma's hand. "I'm in as well."

"And me," Ann said, taking her other hand.

"I'll accompany you on behalf of the Order," Miss McCleethy said.

Is Miss McCleethy a part of this dreadful society too? How could she be? She's wonderful, unlike that horrible Gemma Doyle.

"Right, well, I'm not waitin' around," Fowlson said.

"Someone must stay and protect Lillian and the girls," Miss McCleethy chided.

Mrs. Nightwing adjusted her skirt. She glanced at all of us huddled together. "I shall hold fast here. Mother Elena will make the mark on the doors when you leave, and then we shall not open them again until morning."

"You've got a bit of protection should you need it," Gemma said.

Mrs. Nightwing followed her gaze, as did I, and I saw the stained-glass window, where a warrior clutched a gorgon's head.

"The windows?" I screeched, unable to help myself.

"You'll see," Gemma answered.

I cowered on the floor, clinging to Martha and Elizabeth. "We'll see what? I don't want to see anything more!" I felt tears streaming down my face and my nose running. "This is all your fault, Gemma Doyle. If we survive, nothing will ever be the same." I choked out.

"I know," she said quietly. "I'm sorry.

"I hate you!" I wailed.

"I know that, too."

There was another shriek and I squawked in fear with the other girls.

Mrs. Nightwing rose unsteadily to her feet. "Come, girls, take up you hymnals. We shall sing," she commanded.

"Oh, Mrs. Nightwing," Elizabeth cried. "How can we sing?"

"They'll eat us alive!" Martha joined in.

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Nightwing shouted. "We are perfectly safe in here. We are English, and I expect you to behave as such. No more crying. Let us sing."

Mrs. Nightwing began to sing and soon Brigid did, until all of us began to sing.

The Indian looked grim as he stared at Gemma. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and swallowed hard. Felicity, Ann, Fowlson, and Miss McCleethy followed behind her and the Indian.

The Indian opened the door and they all slipped quietly into the night. Mother Elena told the Indian to hold out his hand and he did. She pricked his finger.

"Mark the door from the outside," she advised. "I shall mark it from the inside. Do not fail."

And they were gone.

We waited hours, singing and listening as the shrieks became less and less frequent.

Finally, the chapel door opened and I counted the people. One, two ,three, four…

Only four.

Miss McCleethy was not there and neither was the Indian boy that I'd never learned the name of.

"The creatures?" Ann asked, pointing to Mother Elena in Mrs. Nightwing's arms. The woman had died in the night. Ann's voice sounded strangely hoarse, as if she'd been screaming all day.

Mrs. Nightwing shook her head. "Her heart. She didn't fall to them. There is that, at least."

Mrs. Nightwing counted them and whispered, "Sahirah… And-"

Gemma shook her head, holding in tears. It was then that I realized that she truly was in love with that Indian boy. And though I still despised her and thought her utterly disgusting for that choice, I felt a slight bit of sympathy for her; she did after all lose a loved one.

Fowlson was also pretty much in tears. He must have loved Miss McCleethy. I knew it was mutual from the way they'd looked at each other that night. I barely held in my tears. Miss McCleethy had been a wonderful woman.

All of the girls at Spence sat huddled, frightened.

Mrs. Nightwing put her hand on Gemma's shoulder. "There is nothing more I can tell them. They've seen and they are frightened."

"They should be." Gemma said. I winced at her voice. I realized that this was the first time she'd spoken since she'd gotten back. Her voice was hard and cold, devoid of any emotion.

"They can't know what has happened."

Gemma stared at Mrs. Nightwing in disbelief. She wrenched away from her grip. "Why should I?"

We were told to go to bed and we all did hesitantly.

I woke up and realized that all I'd seen in my head was a dream. Strangely, I couldn't remember it at all. I only knew that one of my beloved teachers had died, but I couldn't remember her name. And that Gemma Doyle had had a large part in my dream and she'd been dangerous, frightening.

I'd never look at anything in the school the same after my dream, but I learned to live with it.

After all, nightmares are for sleeping only.

**A/N: I don't like Cecily, but this part of The Sweet Far Thing blew my mind. Everyone gets to know the secret! At least, for a little while. I wanted to put it in someone who'd stayed in the castle's point of view, and Cecily presented herself. I believe I made her a bit more perceptive than I really think she is, but I hope it worked… Thanks for reading!**


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